We moved to Park Slope when I was almost six. I remember waking up on the floor beside Kaja’s bed and realizing I had peed the sleeping bag, then standing in the bathtub trying to rinse the pee out without making too much noise. I remember Grete bringing me from the bathroom to the kitchen and feeding me pancakes with raspberry jam, even though it was still dark outside. Being angry falls into the much larger category of things I do not remember, but the version in Lillian’s journal makes sense. With Kenneth out of the picture, I needed to stick by my mother, or where would I end up? Leaning against a candy store wall looking like I ate kindergartners for breakfast, that’s where.

JOURNAL ENTRY, MARCH 1961: When I said we were spending the night at Kaja’s, you were thrilled. Since it was your first sleepover, you didn’t think to wonder why I was sleeping over, too. I waited until morning to tell you the rest. I was so nervous that I wrote down what I was going to say. Ken and I needed to live apart, I told you, because we wanted different things. “Like what?” you asked. “Children,” I said. “Ken wants more children, but I don’t. I just want you.”

You smiled and said, “That’s okay. Daddy already asked me, and I said you could.” “When did he do that?” I wanted to know. “A long time ago,” you said, and smiled even more. As I tried to explain about having only so much energy and attention and not wanting to divide it any more than I already did, somehow it came out that Ken was not your father. You became very still. “But I always call him Daddy,” you said. “Why did he let me call him that if he isn’t?” This wasn’t a question I was ready for: I’d been too busy thinking of how to put things so that you’d know the separation wasn’t your fault.

I said, “Ken loves you so much that to him you are his daughter.” But this wouldn’t do, and your face grew pale. You looked at your small suitcase and the stuffed monkey sitting on your lap. “Are we ever going back?” you asked. I shook my head, and your stillness became unnerving. All I could do was watch you, waiting to see what would happen next.